Riker’s eyes were on the door, and there was some strain in his voice when he said, ‘Sheriff Peety hears about another gunfight with the Wichita Kid – another man killed. He picks up the trail outside of El Paso, Texas. At the end of the book, the sheriffs riding into an ambush – forty-to-one odds. He knows what’s comin’. He knows he can’t win. But he keeps on riding.’

The apartment had a formal dining room, but Charles preferred the casual warmth of the kitchen, where a Bach concerto played at the low volume of background music. He turned down the gas flame under a bubbling pan of red sauce for Sergeant Riker’s favorite meal. His dinner guests had not waited on ceremony. Riker and Mallory sat at the table demolishing salads of olives and purple onions, red lettuce and fettuccine, as if they had not eaten in days and days.

Charles poured out a sample of cabernet sauvignon, then set the bottle on the table. ‘You’re going to love this.’ It was an old vintage, deep red and fine. He swirled the glass, and the bouquet summoned up the warm sun of France, country air and the scent of rich earth among the ripe grapes. He tasted it. Potent magic, a rare wine to stimulate the intellect and turn a stammering fool into a poet. He owned first editions of Blake that had cost him less, but this was truly a work of art that one could swallow.

And Riker did. He slopped it into a glass and slugged it back in one long, thirsty gulp, neatly bypassing every taste bud.

After a time, Charles closed his mouth and opened his eyes again. ‘Anyway,’ he said, turning back to the stove, ‘it was the best I could get on short notice.’

‘It’s wonderful,’ said Riker. Food had greatly improved the man’s mood, perhaps with a little help from the wine.

‘I’m glad you’re taking an interest in Lars Geldorf s case.’ Charles opened the oven and released the aroma of warm garlic bread. ‘He thought you were only humoring him.’ After setting the bread basket on the table, he watched them empty it by half before he could ladle spaghetti and meatballs into their bowls, and it was a race to pour the sauce before they picked up their forks. Now he worked between the movements of silverware to add the grated cheese. ‘Riker, what do you call that detective, the one with the yellow hair? He was here and gone so fast.’

‘The son-in-law of the deputy commissioner. That’s the kid’s full name.’

‘Ronald Deluthe,’ said Mallory.

‘Alias Duck Boy.’ Riker inhaled his spaghetti, then smiled at his host. ‘So, Charles, how was your day? Did the old guy give you any trouble?’

‘Not at all.’ He sat down at the table and salvaged what he could of the bread and the wine. ‘I like his stories.’ He turned to Mallory. ‘Did you know that your father visited Natalie Homer’s crime scene?’

‘I know.’ Mallory opened a small notebook to a page of Louis Markowitz’s handwriting, then pushed it toward him. ‘Take a look.’

Charles recognized a few of the lines she had transcribed last night on her computer. He found it easy to break the simple shorthand code. ‘So Louis was in the room for only a few minutes.’

Riker nodded. ‘That was after Geldorf removed the hair from the woman’s mouth. Lou didn’t know about that.’

Charles read on for a few more lines. ‘He thought Natalie Homer was gagged with tape – not hair – but he doesn’t say why.’ And now he turned the pages faster, easily deciphering chains of sentence fragments. Apparently it was typical of Louis Markowitz to write down only the last words in a long passage of thoughts. ‘Lipstick.’ He turned to Mallory. ‘Maybe he saw a piece of tape with her lipstick on it? Of course that word is miles from the part about the gag.’

‘Cryptic bastard.’ Riker reached for a slice of garlic bread and dipped it into his spaghetti sauce. ‘He wrote in code so the lawyers couldn’t subpoena his personal notes. What about Geldorf s stuff? Have you seen all the photos – the reports?’

‘Not yet. Lars is bringing in another carton tomorrow.’

Mallory’s fork hung in midair. ‘He was holding out on us?’

‘I wouldn’t put it that way,’ said Charles. ‘He has a few things that didn’t qualify as evidence. Said he didn’t want to confuse the larger picture with minutiae.’ Or, in Geldorf s words, the small shit. ‘He has a few more photographs and notes.’

‘A carton of’em,’ said Riker.

Charles looked from one detective to the other, then realized that the short answer should have been, yes, Geldorf had been holding out on them. ‘Well, he probably didn’t think you’d care. But when he found out you were planning to work on the case – ’

‘Never mind.’ Mallory pushed her bowl aside. ‘What’ve you got so far? Anything unusual?’

‘A few discrepancies – one major problem.’

Riker helped himself to a second bowl of spaghetti. ‘Did you point that out to Geldorf?’

‘No, I thought it might be rude.’

‘Good,’ said Riker. ‘Whatever you come up with, bring it to us, not him. Geldorf s not a cop anymore. He’s just visiting.’

Mallory rested one hand on Charles’s arm, and it had the effect of a warm current of electricity. She so rarely touched anyone. ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.

Well, there was a flock of butterflies crashing about inside his chest cavity. That was a problem. And he was wondering how long this contact with her would last if he sat very, very still, if he never moved the arm beneath her hand, not by so much as a hair.

Mallory leaned toward him – so close. ‘Charles, are you breathing?’

‘What?’

She lifted her hand from his arm, realizing that he was not choking on his supper, and the man with total recall forgot the threads to their conversation. Heat was rising in his face, the prelude to a blush. Riker gave him the kindest of smiles, the one that said, You poor bastard.

‘The problem?’ said Mallory, impatient with him now.

Oh, the lock on Natalie Homer’s door. ‘Sorry.’ Damned sorry. ‘According to the landlady’s statement, the odor in the hall was overwhelming, and she was desperate to get into Natalie’s apartment. The old woman had the key, but it wouldn’t open the door. You see, the lock had been changed or another one added -that part’s not clear.’

The detectives exchanged long glances.

‘Natalie had security issues.’ Charles paused again as both of them turned to stare at him. ‘She was being stalked. Perhaps this is something you already know? I don’t want to – ’

‘Go on,’ said Riker. ‘You’re not boring us.’

‘Well, the landlady made one more try at opening the door -right before she called the police. Now the first officer on the scene made a very detailed report – but no mention of kicking down a door or breaking a lock. He just entered the apartment. So, obviously, some third party opened that door before – ’

‘And Geldorf didn’t catch this?’ Riker refilled his wine glass. ‘Naw, I don’t see him missing a thing like that. There should be paperwork for repairs on a busted lock. It travels with the Cold Case file.’

‘No,’ said Charles. ‘I read every word of that file. Between the landlady’s call and the police response, there was a four-hour interval. I gather a bad smell wasn’t a high priority. So, during that four hours, somebody opened the door with a key.’

‘The perp must’ve had Natalie’s key,’ said Riker. ‘He’d be the one who locked up after the murder. So he forgot something and went back to – ’

‘No,’ said Mallory. ‘He wouldn’t risk it – not that day.’

‘I agree,’ said Charles. ‘Between the heat and the insects, that body was badly decomposed. The stench was incredible – that’s in the officer’s report. The killer would’ve realized the police were on the way. Also, this was a Sunday evening. Most of the tenants would’ve been at home. More risk of – ’